


She Contains Multitudes

by adesidera



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Unsleeping City
Genre: I still have no idea how tags work, Immortality, Internal musings, Mentions of the Stonewall riots, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 13:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21320605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adesidera/pseuds/adesidera
Summary: Rowen, Misty, and all the others before her.
Relationships: Misty Moore & Kingston Brown, Rowen Berry & Pete the Plug | Peter Conlan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	She Contains Multitudes

Deep down Rowen knows that she can love Pete. She’s as sure as her knowledge of the streets and sights of New York City that she can bring herself to love Pete the way he does her. There’s a certain knowledge that comes with age that allows her to see things with clear hindsight, her different lives and iterations passing on this well of knowledge about this city that it feels like she’s already a part of this city as much as it’s part of her.

There was once upon a time where she felt trapped by this city, her gilded cage, big and expansive enough for her to spread her wings, so distractingly glamorous and vibrant, but a cage nonetheless. This all changed when Kugrash brought Sofia to her old home, the newest addition to the Unsleeping City that time, unblemished but still New York to the core. The start of something bigger than herself, the dreams of millions of people unraveling before her. She’s _seen _the inside of the American Dream’s mind, the simple wish to exist, at the huge and terrible cost of the dreams of so many others.

(_a little girl singing along to her performances, spurring someone to move to New York in hopes of making it to big, inspiring a confused teen to pursue something else in their lives_)

An actress, an artist, a living dream. It’s why in her many lifetimes, she’s always loved theater the best. Broadway gave her a chance to be the vessel of somebody else’s dream in the heat of the moment, standing on the shoulders of the giants that came before her, beautiful and radiant and alive. 

Newfound family and friends, in her pseudo state of immortality Rowen has never let herself be tied down, has always fluttered from place to place, but now she can’t bring herself to leave as the grime and dust of the city settles on her skin like faerie glamour, the city no longer a noose around her slender neck, ominous and foreboding, and certainly not now as she has settled her court here. She has anchored herself to this city, a soothing and steadying presence.

An applause.

Her hands still on the acoustic guitar she’s holding, lifts her eyes to the cheering crowd. Performance for her comes naturally as she breathes air, the excitement and wonder of each show she’s ever done never wanes, pumps adrenaline in her bloodstream, her life-force. Rowen takes note of the silvery sparks that fill the small hole-in-the-wall speakeasy, brighter than it ever was, and she allows herself to smile at what she almost lost during New Year’s, the small crowd (_smaller than the crowds she used to bring in Broadway_) humbling her with their adoration.

Pete walks towards her with a manhattan on one hand and a virgin martini on the other. 

“You did great, as usual.”

She sips at the manhattan she’s handed in favor of speaking, takes this moment to look at him in quiet contemplation. Pete looks better now, several months after the big fight he’s settled himself into this quiet little bookshop at the center of New York. The life of quiet suits him, she thinks, from the way his cashmere sweater fits him draws the eyes of other people in the bar to the way his magic clings around him now like second skin. Pete _really _looks good right now, the back of her mind supplies (_aided by her second manhattan tonight_).

This wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to sleep with a friend, after all, she’s a creature of fun and whimsy that takes delight in the pleasures of humankind. Her multiple iterations haven’t changed who she is at her core, still expresses her love in physical acts, knows that even in her four-hundred odd years of living that there’s a hidden sort of magic in the sexuality of it all. Skin raising gooseflesh in its wake, being able to transcend the different planes and find just two (_or more_) people tangled together in intimate embrace, neither knowing where the other ends or begins. She has enough experience to know when she’s found someone who she’s physically compatible with, and Pete’s sexual attraction has settled into something else, a devotion that manifested in his constant presence, and suddenly Rowen feels all brand new, top shape and mint condition. 

Before she is given a chance to actually reply to Pete, they are interrupted by a young-ish woman, probably around her late twenties, all polished and professional. The lady holds out a hand, “Rowen Berry?”.

Rowen looks apologetically at Pete, who only shrugs and smiles in response. The woman takes this as her consent, “I’m Kate Madison, mind if we talk?”.

Rowen nods and follow Kate’s lead as she navigates her through the crowd, unflinchingly professional but still manages to maintain a steady stream of small talk as she leads them to a quiet corner booth.

“So, I’ll be direct to the point Ms. Berry. I’ve been to a lot of your shows, and I’ve been meaning to connect with you for quite some time now,” Kate waves over a nearby server and points at Rowen’s current drink, “Two of what she’s having.”, the server leaves and it gives Rowen a chance to read Kate a bit better.

She’s been some sort of artist in one form or another, a majority of her time spent in Broadway, so she knows the tricks of the trade so to speak. New talent like her is easy to come by in a place like New York, there is an abundance of it both magical and not. Kate isn’t the first one to have contacted her, but she is the first one to have made it past introductions, and not to mention the only one that seems to have no ties to the arcane. Kate is obviously very new to this, some slight fumbling as Rowen asks very specific questions that catch her by surprise, but she still manages to answer honestly. 

Five years of handling other starlets seem to pale in comparison to Rowen’s (_and Misty’s and Diana’s and so many others before her’s_) years in the business, but she’s always had a soft spot for those determined and ambitious enough to seek her out. 

She feels the _ping_ of Pete’s magic in her mind. 

_“Look at her pin.” _Turns to look at where Pete is and raises her brow. His answering grin is a bit manic, but he motions to one side of his chest area and nods to where Kate is. Rowen’s eyes follow the motion, and sure enough, she sees the small silver pin fashioned into the shape of a rat on one of her lapels

It’s one of the most ridiculous signs she’s ever received, and feels the faint residue of the silver dust _crackle_ with this as she braces her resolve, “I love that pin you’re wearing.”.

Her bardic magic shimmers over Kate, and the rest of the meeting goes by swimmingly. Kate, after a bit of cajoling, admits that her brother, who used to be homeless, has been a firm believer of a figure known as rat jesus. They part after an exchange of numbers and promises of future meetings. A few minutes later, Pete is back at her side. He hands Rowen her coat wordlessly and picks up her guitar case, leading them both outside into the chilly streets of New York.

“That went well.”

She looks at Pete for a beat and they both laugh, slightly sad and delirious, a terrible sort of longing. Rowen seeks out the warmth of Pete’s hand as they go out to meet with their other friends, a wealth of stories to share between each of them.

Overhead, Kugrash smiles. 

**-**

While Kingston steps out of his ex-wife’s apartment, Misty can’t help but think about all the times Liz eyed her every time she’s with him. Even now, when her body and senses may be affected by age, but she’s not that blind to not notice the covert movement of curtains from Liz’s apartment.

She met Kingston Brown in his late 30’s, the prime of his power as the _Vox Pouli_, on a quest for the American Museum of Natural History. They were to retrieve an ancient artifact from one of the pyramids in Egypt, the tomb had traces of faerie magic, the main reason why she was enlisted to help with the quest. It didn’t end in the best of terms, considering how one of Kingston’s legs were permanently scarred with magical damage, but they managed to retrieve more than what was asked of them, managing to come out with an ankh, a shrunken mummy head, and an emerald beetle. 

This was only the start of Kingston’s and Misty’s close working relationship.

This was also the same time where Misty Moore has established herself as a mainstay in almost all Broadway productions, so needless to say that she’s very easily recognizable. This didn’t help to soothe any underlying tension between her and Liz, who was still reeling being newly inducted into the Unsleeping City after their wedding.

She’s used to people looking at her in one way or another, she’s a _celebrity_, a household name. Misty thrives off of that energy and adoration, it’s what she came to New York for. But the way Liz looks at her is enough to dim the shimmering dust Misty gathers, fierce and dip-dyed in green. She knows that she is the physical embodiment of the life Kingston chose over her, over their shared future. If only Liz spent less time looking at Misty, then maybe she would notice how Kingston only has eyes for her.

Even after their divorce proceedings, Liz seems to hold this grudge against her. Non-magical as though she is, Liz is a smart woman, an intuitive one at that. Perhaps all women are, to some degree. She must see how Misty looks at Kingston from time to time, open and free with her affections. 

Misty never understood Kingston’s propensity for selfishness, never understood what it took to give out parts of yourself for others. It’s why she’s so unbearably drawn to his calm, a constant sort of warmth, a home and shelter. Suddenly understands Liz’s jealousy, since as much as Kingston feels like home, he is also not just anyone’s. No one person can soak up all his warmth, he is the hearth of a home, open and free to those who wish to rest. As much as she wants to love and care for the man, she knows that she can never soothe what Kingston has lost and sacrificed for his current power and position.

So she doesn't say anything as she herds Kingston into the back of her car.

  
-

It’s sometime in June 1969 when Diana (_or Dominic on some days_) Evenheart first witnessed the birth of a new Vox Phantasma. She’s hanging off the arm of a now faceless lover, deft fingers gripping her hair at the base of her nape, as she chases the impressions of whiskey and nicotine on her partner’s lips. Diana tastes strange magic in the air tonight, can feel the energy thrumming against the walls as loud as the beat of music, a tension so thick you can cut it with a knife, but she dismisses this as just the searing heat of the place as bodies pressed against each other closer and _closer_.

The sudden lack of music sobers her up quicker than anything else, cold sweat pours over her whole being as she watches everything unfold, her magic dancing idly on her fingertips ready to strike. She meets the eyes of the other magical patrons she knows, tense and ready to bolt at the first sign of violence. They’re used to raids in the Stonewall Inn by now, but something feels off tonight, something malevolent and _dark_ that chills her bones to the core.

  
“Police! We’re taking the place!”

Everyone looks at each other, some new faces slightly confused, but this is standard procedure after all, and Diana quickly magics her hair longer just as a policewoman makes a grab for her. She looks down at herself and breathes a sigh of relief as she remembers she’s in women’s clothing, finally letting herself be dragged into the comfort rooms.

Even as the raid happens, the presence and build-up she felt earlier doesn’t settle down, she still holds herself stiff as the two policewomen verify their genders. A male cop suddenly shows up by the door and the room is now deathly quiet. Unease start to spread across each person’s face while the two cops continue their procedure, unperturbed by the other’s presence. Three people wearing women’s clothes are suddenly dragged back outside, and the slam of the door sounds strangely like a warning shot against the deathly quiet, her magic now an uncomfortable ball swirling inside her. Diana can feel the unbelievable weight of magic overhead start to _pitter-patter_ all around them until it is a constant gentle stream, silently menacing. Another cop suddenly enters and looks at the others.

“We need you outside.” All of the cops scrutinize each other for a couple of beats, then scurry to the main area, and those left in the bathroom look at each other and a knowing look gets passed around.

She hears the commotion before she sees it as she pushes the door bodily along with the others stuck with her.

The chorus of _We Shall Overcome_ is heard sung across the neighborhood, voices booming and powerful. Everything starts to happen all at once, the towering crescendo of the combined voices trigger the appearance of strangely familiar sparks around the crowd, though this time the usual silver dust now bears multiple colors, Diana sees the umbral arcana stretching and warping all around them and for a brief flickering moment she spies something fly across the sky, a stone or a bottle or a brick, and as soon as whatever it was hits, like the blade of a guillotine, the masses erupt into action.

It was a haze of color and violence, loud and rough as everyone stand their ground against the cops. The gentle shower of magic from earlier is now an assault of arcane energy, drawing crowds in to help keep the cops at bay from their queer brothers and sisters. There is something _unusual _in the colors that dance across the edges of her vision, bright and whimsical. Diana tries to catch the thread-like streams than blow through the air and she freezes in her tracks as she manages to catch one thread and feel the energy connect her to Nod. She tries to find where the other end leads, but the magic fritzes out of control, the other end just a pure sensory overload that makes Diana let go. Her eyes trail this thread as it gets lost in the chaos of Stonewall and returns to fight with her people, covertly shooting spells left and right.

_Vox Phantasma, _it is a title she’s definitely heard of before, met one or two of them in her various lifetimes, but this is the first time she is met with the sheer force of it. To be given the responsibility to hold this city’s dreams and hopes is a weight she can’t begin to comprehend since her own dreams and the choices she had made that led up to this still haunts her in her worst days.

By 4 am she feels her bones and muscles scream in protest, but everything looks to have settled down by this time. The faceless lover from earlier finds her among the crowd and drags her away from the mess and commotion. She can’t help but stare longingly back at the people gathered at Stonewall’s storefront. The loud and colorful threads that floated around the group earlier now seems to have found their center in the middle of the crowd, the chaos settling but still _chaotic _in a way that only the Unsleeping City can be_, _but before she gets a chance to look at the face of the newly chosen Vox Phantasma, she is guided into a sleek black car and is driven away.

She’s not as young as she was, crow’s feet forming by her eyes, and smile lines making small groves near her lips. Her hand seeks out her faceless lover’s, draws unintelligible runes on their skin. She makes the calculations on the top of her head and starts planning the ritual, the taste of the Vox’s magic forgotten as she worries about herself living for another decade.  
  
The next day she hears about the protests and demonstrations that happened after, and she rests well in knowing that the power of the Nod is in safe hands. Diana wonders at all the fun she can have with the new Vox Phantasma, but she looks back at the protesters out and about, living their dreams of being free of who and how they love, and lets this mission go.

She'll find them one day, she has time.

**Author's Note:**

> im so fucking sorry this might be ooc??? idk??? v introspective becos its my current mood atm
> 
> still trying to stretch out my writing muscles so feel free to scream at me (but pls do it gently i am soft)  
hopefully this is a worthy addition to the fandom in my attempts to write out more content for it
> 
> am i happy with it? probably not, but id rather it be posted now vs have it rot in my gdocs queue withh all my other wips


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